Hush
by missmissyeyes
Summary: Alec decides to seek out Camille. Takes place after City of Fallen Angels.


Alec couldn't believe what he was doing. He couldn't believe the complete stupidity in his actions - his completely unimaginable, indescribable, _idiocy_. But he still went through with it, anyway. He still let himself carry on walking - trudging, more like, in the rain - even though he knew what he was getting himself into.

He knew what Camille was capable of. He knew how much she loathed him,_despised_ him, because of Magnus. Their whole past practically screamed that. She would do anything - manipulate him, use him, _kill_ him - just so she could avenge that. She could just as easily kill Alec the same as she had done to the other Shadowhunters and Downworlders; it was just a matter of whether or not Magnus would let him anywhere near him to give her a chance to do that. Which is exactly why Alec did tell any one where he was going.

He was soaking wet, face tearing, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead and just dangling over his eyes. His fingers were icy, strewn into the pockets of one of the expensive leather jackets Magnus had given him. His feet, on the other hand, were completely wet, his socks and the soles of his shoes giving a pathetic _slush_ each time they hit the city's abused concrete.

In all honesty, he was miserable. But he still walked. And then walked some more. So much so, when he _finally_ made to the supposed current whereabout of Camille and the rest of her vampire-posse, his legs and feet were numb - most of it being not from the cold. His stomach turned; it was almost like he could sense the hell racking through his bones, the sleek poison of Camille's eyes tearing into him.

The building was old, but not shabby. Someone who made decent money could live there; it didn't look at all rat-infested or rusted. The only thing that made it seem a little unkempt was the thin, dark green vines that ran up the Victorian architecture - but, in a way, it seemed to just complete it.

He didn't knock. Usually, he would take the more polite approach, but he took a step back this time around. Old building, outskirts of New York, possibly vampire-infested? Yeah, it would be _completely_ stupid to knock. But, then again, not as stupid as seeking them out in the first place.

But he had to. It was almost like the woman was pulling him in, dragging him by anything she could grab onto - his ankles, hair. His heart.

The knob was cold; even colder than outside. As was the building. In fact, as soon as he walked in - quickly closing the heavy door behind him - he felt cold air sweep right through him, chilling him all the way through his bones. It was eerily silent; all he could hear was his footsteps echoing through the halls, up the brilliant gold and mahogany staircase. The pounding of the rain outside seemed foreign in contrast.

Alec fought the urge to say something, question the air around him. But he didn't - mostly because he didn't want to draw too much attention (like he hadn't already?), cause a scene or upset any one inside any more than he had to at the moment. And, most importantly, he didn't want to speak. It was almost like if he even _tried_ to say something, his voice would crack. The tension in his body would reach its high. So he refrained.

He knew they were listening, waiting. Waiting for him. And he was going to find_them_.

He decided to walk down the primary hall, right in front of the door. It was adorned with a creme colored paint, a mirror with a shimmering, gold lacing and a couple of frames holding fresh, painfully obvious _mundane_ photos. He didn't draw much attention to them. He just quietly hoped the middle-aged woman with short, brown hair, man with icy blue eyes and that little girl - so _small_, and so_young_- all made it out alive.

His heart sank into his stomach. If the rumors were true - the ones he oh-so-subtly picked up by those Downworlders - and vampires were currently inside that house, then they were gone. Definately gone. And even though he knew it would be wishful thinking, he silently hoped they were off on vacation somewhere, in the _dead_ middle of October.

As he trailed further and further down the hall, he became even more tense, and the silence became even more eerie - almost to the point where he couldn't stand it. And he hated it. If only he didn't have to reach this point - if only he didn't have to be this desperate. If only he didn't have to be this pathetic.

But the silence did not last for long. At the end of the hall, he could hear voices - high voices, a certain ringing and perfect articulation that Alec knew only came from certain Downworlders. Those being immortal, everlasting - those that lived hundreds of years and had enough time prefect everything to the point of _boredom_.

He stopped in front of the door, hoping to catch their conversation, but they stopped abruptly - _way_ too abrupt for his tastes. He did recognize quite a few voices, though; Alec thought there were about six or seven men, but he didn't really count. But he was completely, entirely sure of one voice - coming from a shrill, but poise, woman. Camille.

She was speaking to him. "Alexander," she said, calm. He knew she was expecting him. "Come in." He hesitated. Should he leave, Run? He cursed himself. But then he'd be caught, killed, written off as a spy for the Clave.

When the door was opened, it let out a cry, revealing the men - all dressed in dark cloak, standing around a small, rectangular table - and Camille sitting, silver blonde hair tied into a tight bun, dressed in a scarlet dress that stood out brilliantly against her pale, inhumane and beautiful skin. She drank blood out of a wine glass.

"Long time, no see," she said, pure taunting lacing her voice. Alec realized she wore the same scarlet lipstick as her dress. When he said nothing in return, she continued as if he did, "a couple of months, has it been?"

"Three," Alec answered, he lips moving without his permission, "three months." Three months after he'd set her free. Three months after he'd set her free and let her go on _even more_ killing sprees. And all because he was selfish.

She smiled, the action almost too demonic for someone so beautiful. "Yes," she said. "I assure you, Alexander - I would have stayed a bit longer," she pursed her lips as if she tasted something sour, "but the other girl had come by then, and I knew she didn't understand. She would never understand. No one will."

To Alec, this was painfully true. It broke his heart into a million pieces and he wasn't sure he'd be able to pick them all back up again. But, again, he said nothing - just looked everywhere but at _her -_at the woman that was everything his boyfriend ever wanted and needed. The men beside her just stared.

"I don't want to become a vampire," Alec said, almost too randomly, coaxing quite a bit of a reaction out of some of them. "But I want to know - how can I become immortal, like you?"

Camille stared. "You cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because to become immortal - to live for eternity - takes _damnation_. You may be born with that damnation, like Magnus, or it may be acquired," she spoke. She sounded sorry, and Alec almost believed her. "You have to die, Alexander. Your blood has to stop running, your flesh has to grow cold and your heart has to halt its beat." She stood, her gown falling around her like pools of blood.

Alec ran cold; right then, he knew he was a goner. Why had he come? Sure, no one else could really give him information _and not lie_, but he should have_known_. He should have known she was going to walk all over him, trick him, deceive him. But, then again, did he really _not_ want it? Or did he subconsciously itch for it?

He backed up a bit too fast, hitting the closed door behind him. It didn't take long for Alec to realize they were advancing on him. "What's wrong?" she asked, and her fingers were on his cheek, trailing down - slow - to his throat. Her grip wasn't tight, but threatening. "Don't you want this? Don't you want to live forever?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, whispering, almost sad - echoing his longing. It was entrancing.

The men were holding him down, gripping tight - so tight he felt like his bones would break. As they all leaned in, teeth glaring, he tried to hold down a whimper. "Don't worry, Alexander," she whispered, her cold breath drooping like roses on his neck. "It hurts, but its for Magnus, right?" She was right; Alec wanted this. He needed this.

As he felt their teeth digging into him - not failing to get him in any direction - and he slowly felt the blood drain from him, his thoughts began to fade. And then he's falling, falling - losing his grip on everything.

_Magnus,_ he whispers.

_Magnus. _


End file.
